University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

After Aunt Agnes shut the door on Gordon, she
went to the bed and composed decently the body of
the deceased.

“Child,” said Agnes, “your grandmother could
hardly have lived over night, but the sight of that man,
Gordon, on such a message, was too much for her. But
be not cast down. Come to me, child; and kneel by the
bed-side, and let us pray for strength to endure the ills of
life and resignation to our fate, whatever it may be, for
we are in the hands of a just and merciful God.”

So speaking, the old woman knelt down with Peggy
by her side, and prayed fervently and long, and particularly
for the orphans, who were now left to their
own guidance on the cold charity of the world.

After praying, she arose from her knees, and said to
Peggy—

“Now, child, do you go up stairs and lie down on
your cousin's bed—I'll watch by your grandmother,
and in the morning you can go to the village and
have everything arranged as it ought to be.”

“Mercy!” said Peggy, as she observed the candle
flickering in the socket; “that's all the light there is
in the house.”

“No matter, child; God's eye is on us in darkness
as well as in light. Come, compose yourself; go to
rest, child.”

“Not for the world I would'nt go to bed,” said
Peggy; “no, I must muster courage, and go up to
Holly, and tell the folks about poor Bobby's misfortune
and granny's death—alone, we're all alone now,
and I must do what I can by Bobby.”

“That is a proper sentiment, Peggy; so go, child.
You think the wind sounds mournfully, but it's all in
your own feelings: the stars are bright,” continued
the old woman, rising, and looking out of the door,
“and though the clouds away off to the west seem to
threaten a change, it won't be before midnight; so
mayhap you'd better go up to Mr. Fitzhurst's, and
tell them what has happened, and bring some of the
servants with you to help me. Don't forget the
candles, child.”

After hesitating for a moment, by a strong mental
effort Peggy gathered her cloak around her, and
started on her melancholy errand. She glanced fear-fully
over the common as she closed the door, and
made a wide circuit, to avoid passing near the clump
of trees that stood about twenty yards from the house,
in the direction of Holly. After she had got some
ten or more steps beyond the trees, she heard footsteps,
distinctly, behind her. She stopped for a moment,
irresolute whether she should fly back to the
cabin, or exert her utmost speed towards Holly.

“Why should I be frightened?” she said to herself;
“if it is Gordon he dare not harm me; and why
should it be him?” As she thus reflected, she summoned
resolution to look behind, and distinctly saw
the figure of a man approaching her. She determined
to move forward, as if she had no suspicions;
but the next moment, as the foot-fall became more
distinct, she started on with the speed and fear of a
frightened deer. As she ran, it was evident that the
person behind was following her, for he sprang after
her at his utmost speed. Uttering a scream, that

startled the silence of the night in fascinated terror,
Peggy turned her head, to satisfy herself who her
pursuer was, and as she did so, she ran with her
whole force against a tree that stood directly in her
path. It was a minute before she knew where she
was, such was the stenning effects produced. When
she recovered, she found Gordon standing by her
side.

“Why should you run away from me, Peggy?”
said Gordon, in an insinuating tone.

“Mr. Gordon, are you agoing to haunt me forever,
like an evil spirit?”

“Forever, Peggy, till I gain your love.”

Peggy made no answer, but attempted to move
away.

“Stop; you must hear me, Peggy,” said Gordon,
sternly detaining her. “The word, mind you, is
must now. If I am your enemy, mark it, you compel
me; but until you do, in spite of everything, I'm
your friend.”

“Friend! John Gordon, leave me. I've told you
again and again I've done with you. Friend! and
my poor dead granny's words ringing in my ears.
John Gordon, God's curse is on you. I don't scorn
or hate you any more—I pity you from the bottom
of my heart. Bobby and I are orphans now, alone,
all alone; but our cause is in His hands who protects
the fatherless. I don't need your friendship—I don't
care for your enmity. Go your ways, and may God
forgive you.”

When Peggy first started from the cabin, the presentiment
that she should meet Gordon unnerved her;
but when she recovered from the effects of running
against the tree, and found Gordon by her side, in an
instant the solemn scene she had witnessed, and the
earnest prayer for herself that Agnes had offered
up by the body of her grandmother, arose to her

mind, and gave it a tone and character, such as she
had never displayed before. This new impulse evidently
had an effect on Gordon; for she moved on,
and, without attempting to withhold her, he walked
beside her. His passions, however, soon resumed
their sway.

“Peggy,” said Gordon; and he stepped before, and
facing, prevented her advancing; “I was not born in
the woods to be scared by an owl. My mind's made
up. I come to you from your Cousin Bobby.”

“From Bobby! where is he?” exclaimed Peggy,
in an anxious tone, no longer trying to pass on.

“In jail, Peggy; ironed down.”

“Merciful Father!”

“Yes; I've just left him there, ironed down in an
infernal dark dungeon, where there are rats and vermin
enough to make short work of him. I tried to
talk the jailor into putting him into a better room,
but it wouldn't do; they think Bobby's too hard a
case.”

“My God! John Gordon, this is your fault.”

“My fault! your fault, Peggy; you drove me to
desperation. I would have gone myself to jail before
a hair of Bobby's head should have been touched if
it hadn't been for you. He did'nt deny passing the
money on me. I would have screened him if I could.
But what reason had I for doing it: think how he
treated me, how you treated me, see how your grandmother
was turned against me, as if I had been the
cause of Bobby's fall at the races, of his keeping a
booth there—it's that old negro Pompey's fault—or of
that counterfeiting business in town. No; I would
have saved him—I can save him.”

“How, how? I'll bless you forever if you will.”

“Suppose I quit the country, and don't appear
against him, what proof have they?”

“Will you, will you!” exclaimed Peggy; “he's no

counterfeiter, I know he's not; but somehow things
are so against him. Oh! will you leave the country,
Mr. Gordon?”

“If you go with me, Peggy.”

Peggy's head drooped upon her breast, and her
hands fell to her sides as if she had been struck a
violent blow.

“Hear me, Peggy; I came from Bobby himself.
He got on his knees to me in his dungeon, and begged
me, in a voice that would move the stones, to save
him. You saw how he was overcome when he left
the cabin in custody; he could'nt say one word. He'll
go distracted. I am afraid. I told him there was no
way of saving him, but by my flying the country; and
that I wouldn't do, unless you went with me. I have
money enough, Peggy, to go to the farthest end of
the earth; you shall want for nothing; I'll be kind to
you, I will; you think me rough, but I'll reform; I'll
be all you wish me, and we'll send for your Cousin
Bobby, and he shall come and live with us. He
never can lift up his head here again if he comes
out, so he must come to us—he will come to us. Say,
Peggy; say you'll go with me; come, now, to the
village; I have a horse and gig there now; in an hour
we'll be in the city. We'll be married there, and
Bobby will be safe. I've money enough; you heard
Bobby say what I bought at his booth I paid for in
silver. No, I touch no notes now-a-days, when to touch
'em is to loose one's character. Come, go with me,
and Bobby will be safe; if he's ruined, sent to the
penitentiary, or dies in jail, it will be all your fault.”

Gordon felt plainly that his words had produced a
strong impression on Peggy. She muttered to herself,
unconscious of his presence, “Cheerfully I would
lay down my life to save him.”

“Lay down your life. There is no laying down

your life about it, come,” and he took her hand to
lead her towards the village.

“John Gordon,” said Peggy, folding her arms, and
standing firmly, “not now; I will not go with you now
to village or to city. My grandmother lies dead, and
Aunt Agnes is alone with her; she must be decently
buried—I must be there—I will be there. But if
you can save Bobby, if you have had nothing to do
with harming him, and if you will save him—I—I will
marry you.”

“I to do with harming him! what puts that into
your head. 'Aint I here to save him. Why not
marry me now? come to the village then, and go
before the squire, and I'll swear to you I'll save
him.”

“Now! not now,” said Peggy, with immoveable
firmness; “not now, unless you could put breath in my
poor Granny as well as save Bobby; she must be
decently buried, and I must be there. Oh! Mr.
Gordon, if you say you mean to be kind to
me, in mercy leave me now, and let me do my
errand. Aunt Agnes wonders now what keeps me,
and there's poor Granny lying dead, and I'm talking
about marrying! But I will (and she spoke this
rather to herself than to Gordon) save Bobby, come
what will of it.”

“Give me your hand, then,” said Gordon with an
eager exultation, which he could not conceal, “and
swear to me that you will marry me.”

“I've said it, John Gordon; and upon those conditions
I'll keep my word; now leave me.”

Gordon attempted to kiss her; but Peggy pushed
him aside, and hastened on her way. Gordon stood
as if he wished to follow Peggy, but feared the effect
upon his plans.

“I've got her,” he said; “I've got the true hold on
her at last. I mean to be kind to her too; be sure I

shall be kind to her; there's not a devil in hell shall
have a happier time of it. She loves that Cousin
Bobby, and therefore I hate him. No! he'll be
coming some of his Joe Hitt pranks over me if I save
him. I'll save him safe in the penitentiary. If I had
got the hussey to the city—she was near consenting.
Ha! I must be after her; what a fool I am; she will
see her cousin in the morning, and I will be blown.”
As Gordon thus thought, he advanced upon Peggy's
path. “No, it's too late,” he resumed; “she's off.
Well, I must use fair words. Early in the morning
I'll contrive to see her, and take some message from
Cousin Bobby; that will keep her until I fix the matter.
Ha, ha! to get her consent within the sight of
the cabin, and that old dead hag's curse ringing in
my ears!”

With this righteous reflection Gordon turned once
more towards Springdale; taking care, however, from
the influence of a superstitious dread, which he could
not overcome, to make a wide path to avoid passing
near the cabin where the dead body of Granny Gammon
lay.